


Not-So-Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

by I_am_Best



Series: WOYtober 2016 [4]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Scary Stories, WOY meets Are You Afraid of the Dark, WOYtober, it's sorta skeleton dance-y now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_Best/pseuds/I_am_Best
Summary: When Hater and Wander are kicked out of town, they're forced (at least on Hater's part) to camp out in the dark, forbidding forest. The perfect place to tell each other scary stories.





	1. Campfire Horror Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts found [here](http://dontgetusedtoit.tumblr.com/post/149854345058/woy-tober-challenge). This one's going up on-date(ish) since it has the Trending Twenty-Seventh post, and each story is unrelated but for the framework. Also, I am uncreative so this is my second story referencing _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_. It's a good series. You should read it.

Hater sat on the ground and pulled his knees close to his chest. Across the small fire sat Wander, feeding twigs into it until it burned steadily. The little furball sat back on his haunches and smiled at him. Hater frowned. The fire crackled, and smoke curled up to a murky sky.

"I'm real sorry about your date, Hatey. I didn't realize it was, well, a date."

"It was!" Hater shouted defensively. "And she was totally into me."

Wander sucked air between his teeth before he spoke carefully. "I don't think she was all that interested. It kinda looked more like two people just... sorta occupying space close to each other."

"Whatever. It doesn't matter now." Hater picked up a stick and poked it at the fire. "You had to come in and ruin it, and now we're not allowed back into town." He wanted to call Peepers for a pick-up and/or impromptu conquest, but that felt like admitting defeat. He hadn't been too keen on Hater going on this date after the last one. Which Wander and Sylvia had also ruined.

Wander let Hater mope for a minute then said, "At least it's real nice out here. Stars 'n' wind 'n' the smell of pine sap 'n' soil. You don't gotta wait for Mr. Peepers in a holdin' cell, and Sylvia'll fix the town right up. An' I don't gotta wait for her t' do that in a holdin' cell, either. No harm, no foul."

"I guess."

They lapsed again into silence, which neither handled well as a general rule.

"Entertain me," Hater ordered at the same time Wander said, "Let's tell scary stories!"

Hater considered this then shrugged. "Sure. But you go first! So you don't, uh, feel bad when mine's so much cooler."

Wander nodded along to Hater's reasoning and rummaged around in his hat. For a terrifying moment, Hater worried he was going to bring out the banjo, but instead, he pulled out a small pouch.

He cleared his throat. "Now all this out here can be scary." Wander gestured at the world at large. "The endless void of space, the tangled shadows betwixt the trees, their twisted branches like fingers clawin' at your cloak." Hater leaned a little closer to the fire, green eyes flickering over the suddenly ominous looking forest. Wander leaned in closer, too, and the fire cast strange shadows over his furry face. He lowered his voice. "It's the unknown that gets to ya. But what about the things you _think_ you know?" Wander pointed over Hater's shoulder, and he turned his head slowly. In the distance, the town twinkled invitingly in the darkness. He looked back at Wander.

"What about your friends? Your neighbors? _Your_ loyal soldiers? What do you really know about the people you share your life with? What if you found out?" Hater eyed Wander, trying to figure out his point, as Wander reached into the bag and pulled out something. "I present for your consideration --" he threw some powder onto the fire, causing it to flare up in a cascade of sparkles. "The Tale of the Small Town Tradition."


	2. "The Tale of the Small Town Tradition"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "Pumpkin carving," and I like to imagine Wander's imagining the cashier guy from Blorpee's as our main player here.

Our story begins in a small town, of course, on a small planet. A one orbble station sort of place. And in that one orbble station worked Kliboe.

Kliboe was new to a town that never had new faces, but he was the sort of guy to easily become a part of the backdrop. He saw everyone in the town come in and out, buying drinks, putting twenty on the pump, picking up the paper. You'd be amazed what you can learn just by watching others go about their day. Mrs. Wethers was trying to cut down on smoking, so bought only one carton a day now, down from her usual three. Xke from the general store moved to stocking, so Kliboe saw him nightly instead of every morning, though he still stopped by for a cup of coffee and something off the grill just before Kliboe closed up. School let out at two and kids would loiter with their bikes, drinking sodas and trying to get Kliboe to accept their fake IDs for harder stuff.

Even if he didn't know your name, he knew something about you. Everyone has routines, and for most their routines involved the orbble station.

But then, as autumn set in and the weather grew colder -- the time when more people should be coming into the orbble station for warm cappuccinos and spiced coffee -- Kliboe found that fewer and fewer people were visiting the store. Had Mrs. Wethers completely cut down on her cigarettes? Was there some school holiday he hadn't known about?

Kliboe kept the store open even after closing one day when Xke didn't show up at his usual time. Nobody else had been in that day. Nobody.

Eventually, Kliboe closed up, but instead of going home, he walked down Main Street. All the storefronts were dark, all the windows in the apartments above, too. The wind rustled in the trees, fluttering banners and shaking the leaves, and the street lights cast everything in a muddy, orange glow.

Kliboe pressed his face to the window of the drug store and squinted into its dark, shadowy interior. He could see shapes moving inside, so knocked and called out, "Mr. Chek? Mr. ArCee?"

The figures froze, and Kliboe thought he saw the flash of eyes and teeth before they skittered away into the shadows. He backed away from the window.

Suddenly the street didn't seem so deserted. It just seemed full of things he couldn't see.

He scanned the sidewalks and windows more carefully. What he'd mistaken for banners strung up in the darkness started to look a lot more like skin. Entire suits of skin with gaping eye and mouth holes draped across lines and strung up in branches. Things with long limbs that could have been legs or arms or fingers moved in the shadows between buildings, eyes bright like stars.

He ran back home and locked the door, dimmed all the lights. He didn't see anybody on his way there but felt plenty of people saw him.

Somebody knocked. "Kliboe?" Xke's voice -- or something approximating it -- said. "You know, we never really thought about it since you're such a staple at the station, but you're not from around here." The voice quieted, waiting for a response Kliboe wasn't going to give. The thing out there gave a shrug audible with cracks and creaks. "And we've never really gotten to know each other. Any of us." More noises like straining branches came from around the house. They were everywhere. "So me and the guys were wondering if you wanted to hang out."

Kliboe pushed open his mail slot. "What's going on?" he asked warily. A collection of disparate teeth and two, glowing eyes dropped down to look through the hole.

"Oh, gosh," the Xke-not-Xke thing said. "Nobody explained, did they? Wow. Um. This must seem really freaky. It's molting season. So we've, well, molted. Last molt was today, so we're just letting the ol' skin suits air out for the kids, you know? Jeez. Sorry about this." The thing made a gesture that could have been it rubbing the back of its head awkwardly, if it had a discernable head or hand. "We're carving jack-o-lanterns tonight if you want to join us. Trust me, it'll be easier to explain not talking through a mail slot, and it'll be fun."

Kliboe thought about this a moment. Even if it didn't sound exactly like Xke anymore, the tone was his. And whatever had happened did seem to have affected literally everyone else in town. This was a losing battle. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

A thing that looked like a body that had forgotten everything but the circulatory system then dunked it all in ink stood in front of him. It was a good foot or two taller than Kliboe, and more like it stood in the darkness beyond, eyes flickering out-of-sync.

"Xke?" he asked.

"I was thinking about being Ms. Kora next, since the skin I really want isn't available now," the thing said pleasantly, draping a limb across Kliboe's shoulder as it led him onto the street and back into town. "But you can call me Xke until then if you want."

It led him to the city hall, which was alive with lights and activity. Tables had been set up, more skins flapped in the air above them, and pumpkins were littered everywhere, with tangled creatures working diligently at gutting them.

Xke sat down at its own bench and patted the seat next to it. Kliboe joined it and was supplied with a pumpkin and knife.

"So every year, the people in this town molt out of our skins," Xke-not-Xke explained as it carefully stabbed out the shape of eyes in its pumpkin. Kliboe mimicked it less enthusiastically. "And for a few weeks, we're all like this. Then the little ones move on to bigger skins, and the rest of us just swap around to try out new ones. But some say that there are ghouls waiting for us to leave our skins and snatch them right up for themselves! So we make jack-o-lanterns to guard our skins. The uglier, the better." Xke-not-Xke laughed. "Those are just stories, of course. To scare the kids. But it's tradition."

Kliboe nodded like he understood any of this. It wasn't so bad. Just a weird alien tradition he hadn't been told about when he'd taken the orbble station position. He finished up his jack-o-lantern and held it out for Xke-not-Xke to inspect.

"That's a fine, scary face," it said. "If I was one of those ghouls, I wouldn't come within a hundred yards of your skin." Xke-not-Xke sighed. "There's always next year, I suppose..."

* * *

Wander fell silent, tongue held between his teeth as he awaited the verdict.

"That was... weird," Hater said finally.

"Was it scary?"

"I guess? Probably more scary if you had skin, which, y'know." Hater tapped the porcelain-white bone of his jaw. "I was kind of hoping Xke or whatever would be some sort of demon. I think it'd be way better if he was just skinning, like, the entire town. And, and eating them or something."

"Nuh-uh." Wander crossed his arms as he shook his head vehemently. "I don't deal in demons, mister. If ya want a demon story, you'll hafta tell it yourself."

"Maybe I will. And it will be a hundred times scarier than your spooky little skin town." Hater grabbed the bag from Wander and pulled out a handful of the powder. "I present for your consideration or whatever, the, uh..." He paused a moment, scrambling for a title for a story he hadn't even come up with. "Oh!" He threw the powder into the fire just as a gust of wind howled past, and it flared up right in Wander's face. "Heheh. I call this 'The Tale of the Demon's Curse'."


	3. "The Tale of the Demon's Curse"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was... Monster Monday #4: Lord Hater. Also, this took a turn for the Skeleton Dance, because Wander is near Hater.

Okay, so like, there was this planet. It wasn't a part of any system -- oo, no, it wasn't a part of any _galaxy_. It was a rogue planet. But people had heard of it, because it was said to have the... the most powerful artifact in the universe.

But since it was a rogue planet out there in the empty, what'd you call it? Endless void of space, you couldn't just go to it. No, you had to _summon_ it.

Some no-name little planet decided to do just that. They turned their radio telescopes to those dark parts of the sky and listened. Eventually, they began to pick up signals. And when converted to sound, those signals turned out to be wet sort of sounds and drowned out screams. Tearing and squelching and begging and -- and a rushing roar that could have been an inferno or an ocean. They'd found the rogue planet.

Now they just had to get its attention.

Instead of receiving signals, the stupid little planet started broadcasting. The ritual involved sending lots of like, cursed numbers and lightning bolts and blood-dripped imagery and whatever. A sacrifice or two -- and not animals, people. Just straight up murdered so the rest of the people on the planet could maybe get some power.

They broadcast for years -- because, y'know. Space is big, and signals don't travel that fast -- long enough that the original people who'd wanted this all died, the project was forgotten, and time marched on. But the rogue planet didn't care. It was too late. It'd been summoned. It was coming for them.

One night --

* * *

Hater paused in his story when he realized Wander had slithered his way into his lap. He had his hat squeezed punishingly tightly in his arms, and his eyes were big -- bigger than normal.

"What are you doing?"

"It's scary," Wander whispered.

"Well duh. You wanted us to tell scary stories. And scary is something I know a lot about." Hater smirked, teeth looking a little sharper than normal, eyes a little more electric in the firelight. Wander squeaked and tucked his face into Hater's chest.

Hater tried prying Wander off of him, but even though he wasn't actually holding onto Hater, he seemed firmly glued by gravity.

"Ugh, fine, whatever. I'm just going to continue my story," he said finally. Wander nodded into his chest.

"Where was I?"

"One night," Wander supplied.

* * *

Right, one night, as scientists were doing whatever nerdy junk scientists do, studying space or whatever, they noticed a dark blot blocking out the stars. It grew bigger every following night, sending out its screaming, tortured signals as it shot through space faster than should be possible.

The rogue planet was in their system within a month. It plowed through the outer planets before coming to rest in orbit just beside the largest gas giant in the system.

The scientists found out about the blood-soaked project, and while they weren't in it for power anymore, they needed that planet gone before it completely wrecked their system. It had already taken out another planet in the system, leaving just silence where it used to be.

Their signals weren't returned, so they sent out probes, and when the probes relayed that the planet had a breathable atmosphere and solid ground, they decided to send a person.

Only one person was stupid enough to volunteer. A goodie-two-shoes sort of person, who just wanted to _help_ and _be friends_ and other ugh stuff like that. They hoped that by sending the nicest little do-gooder they could find, the planet would simply go away since all those evil people who'd attracted it were dead and gone.

So this little weirdo was sent off to the demonic planet. He landed without any sort of issue and stepped out into a nightmarish hellscape, where everything was made of flesh and tormented souls, the sky rained blood, and constant streaks of green lightning was the only illumination.

He wandered -- stop giggling -- he explored for days, looking for anyone to speak to. All he found were gaping maws in the ground like sand snappers, ready to suck in anyone who ventured too close and tear them into shreds, and eyes that screamed over and over, and hands rising out of bloody pools, clawing for any purchase on the pulsating, fleshy ground.

He'd almost been dragged into the earth itself a few times, trying to help them because he was an idiot and didn't realize this entire planet was designed to maim people, and he still hadn't learned his lesson. He just rationalized it as a miscommunication.

This idiot had lost his ship ages ago, and had been stumbling blindly across the planet before he came across some steps leading into the ground. With nothing else to do except lay down and die, he went down them.

They led to a door covered in stretched skin with veins webbed across its surface. He knocked, and the door swung open. In the middle of the room on a pedestal was an orb that glowed a sickly green. Beyond that was a throne with bony spikes jutting out of it, oozing blood and crackling with more green lightning. In that throne sat a figure shrouded in shadows.

The idiot entered the room and stopped just before the orb. "Howdy," he said in a stupid twangy voice, and yes that is exactly what you sound like, Wander. "I was wonderin' if y'd be kind 'nough t' go away?"

The figure gave a deep, booming laugh then descended the stairs. He was nine feet of skeleton in a black robe, completely ripped and awesome looking. With pretty green eyes and an adorable smi-- Wander, stop it, this is my story!

So this totally cool and not at all cute demon king of hell descended the stairs and stood across from the idiot. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, voice as deep as his laugh, as he gestured at the orb.

"Naw, I weren't informed a nuthin'. Jest told t' kinda ask ya t' leave."

"I was summoned to your world ages ago by those foolish enough to seek my aid. This orb is the center of my power, the heart of this planet that, as I'm sure you've seen, can bend time and space to my will. If anyone were to have it, they could easily rule the cosmos."

"I'm too stupid to care 'bout all that," the idiot said -- well maybe if you didn't act like an idiot, I wouldn't keep calling you one, Wander. Anyway, the idiot said, "I jest wanna help people."

"Your people wanted power," the demon said. "They wanted to take my heart and use it for their own gain."

"That ain't right."

"You're right. That's not right. I think I'll destroy your planet for trying to do that." The demon turned around and returned to his throne.

"Wait, ya can't do that!" the idiot said, following him. "All th' people who wanted that are dead. The planet's fulla innocent folk."

"All the better. Demonic planet of evil, remember?" The demon raised a hand, and the idiot was enveloped in a cage of tendons. "You get to watch." With another wave, the ceiling opened and the clouds of blood and lightning parted, giving them a view of the idiot's home world as it quickly filled the sky.

* * *

Wander blinked owlishly up at Hater when he didn't continue. "Then what happened?"

"Everyone died. Slowly and painfully. The end. Congratulations, Wander. You killed an entire planet because you couldn't stop wriggling. There was gonna be a long, involved arc and probably some robot fights or something, but not anymore."

Wander twisted around in Hater's robe. He'd gotten tangled in it at some point during the story, trying to hide inside Hater's ribcage even as Hater fought to keep him out while trying to stay on track. "I'm sorry. Maybe we can work on that later. But I stayed with the demon?"

"Well, yeah. He captured you. Probably kept you in that cage and made you watch horrible things."

"That's nice. I mean," Wander clarified when Hater gave him a look of disbelief. "Not th' horrible things part, but that we stayed together. I'm sure I got the demon to become good, 'n' the skies cleared of blood 'n' all them tormented souls were released."

"What? No! This is my story, and in my story, you were tortured for all eternity. The end."

Wander thought on this, then shrugged. "I guess that _is_  a pretty scary ending. Much scarier than mine."

"Duh. Now get off me."

Wander shook his head. "I'm too scared t'," he said, though he didn't sound particularly scared anymore. "I'll tell my next story from here." He reached for the bag of powder, but it was just out of reach, at least not without leaving Hater's lap. Hater rolled his eyes and handed it to Wander. "Thank you. Ahem."

When Wander didn't continue, Hater flicked the side of his head.

"Ah, sorry! I was still thinkin' about rogue planets. It was a real... specific thing t' jump to from demons. Let's see, let's see..." He tossed the bag back and forth, then spoke. "We all get our opinions 'n' tastes from somewhere. Genetics. Family. Nature 'n' nurture, but have you ever wondered how much of you is comprised of other folks? If your thoughts are your own, or someone else's? If any part of you really is you?"

"I hadn't before," Hater muttered.

Wander grinned up at him. "Now's as good a time as any t' start questionin' your very existence. And with that, I present to you --" he threw the powder, the fire flared, and Wander said ominously, "The Tale of the Whisperin' Wall."


	4. "The Tale of the Whispering Wall"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was candy corn, and this one was surprisingly hard. Who'da thunk candy corn + existential horror + whispering wall would be such a tricky combo. I might post the trash drafts on my Tumblr, just because they were leading up to the phrase "Did you just blame some sort of primordial, extradimensional, nightmare entities for the existence of candy corn?"

River Run had been hoping space freighters for years. Sometimes she'd do work, other times she'd stow away. Once she was accidentally packed in with the cargo. Overall, though, she was a pretty independent sort, getting to where she was going by whatever means worked.

This time, she found herself employed on the _SF Vega Majora_ , one of those big old vessels that carried food supplies between galaxies. It was not a fast ship, either, so this trip could take ages. The crew had stasis pods and few friends, as a result.

Being new, River Run got the dead shift -- the longest stretch between galaxies, where nothing really existed and only one person needed to be out of stasis on the off chance something went wrong with the systems. This could stretch for months. By herself. With only the ship's entertainment system for company. As it turned out, 'entertainment system' mean old VHS tapes of bad sitcoms and board games that all required two or more people to play. Some kind soul had thought to pack plenty of food to snack on but stopped short of supplying anything that wasn't these little triangles of candy striped in orange, yellow, and white. (Those are called candy corn? But they don't look anything like corn. Oh, the _kernel_. If you say so.)

So someone had packed a whole bunch of candy corn. Which makes a lot more sense in retrospect than candy triangles, because the cargo was corn -- corn flour, corn syrup, popcorn, et cetera. Someone probably got a good laugh out of that, I imagine before being fired. But that meant River Run was left eating candy corn for months.

When she got tired of laugh tracks and losing against herself, River Run whiled away the hours exploring the ship and galaxy gazing.

Being by her lonesome like she was, River Run had only herself for company. And usually, that's fine. She could entertain herself for days with next to no help, but this wasn't days. This was months.

As days turned to weeks, she began to notice something different about herself. Sometimes she'd consider just eating an entire crate of candy corn, even though a crate was bigger than she was, and candy corn as it turns out is pretty gross. Or while watching the galaxies, she'd think about just jumping ship and swimming to them. These weren't her normal thoughts, which usually consisted of songs and random noises or just long stretches of silence. They didn't feel like _her_ thoughts at all, but who else's could they be?

River Run dealt with them mostly by ignoring them. She might _think_ to put her arm in the engine's turbines, but she didn't have to do it. Though she did catch herself eating more candy corn than usual. The usual being none.

Then one day, down in the dark depths of the cargo hold, she found something even weirder than her sudden compulsion for candy corn and self-mutilation. A wall was whispering. Now, this was unusual for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was they were in space, _and_ this was an exterior wall.

She pressed her ear to the wall to better hear the words. "Unplug the stasis pods," the wall said.

River Run pulled back. "What? No! That's terrible."

"Do it," the wall whispered like a devil on her shoulder.

She crossed her arms. "No sir, I will not."

The wall persisted, and she was just as persistent back. Then she realized she was arguing with a wall. She could just walk away. So she did. She had her rounds to do.

As she checked the stasis pods, her eyes lingered on the power supply. River Run turned away and shoved some more candy corn into her mouth.

She felt secure blaming this wall for her strange thoughts, though they were becoming harder and harder to distinguish from her own. Maybe she really did like candy corn. It actually felt kind of calming to pluck her fur out strand by strand. She'd explored most of the ship except the trash compactor. And so on.

River Run was sleeping in her bunk when she felt a breath of air across her earhole. _Do it._

She woke up half-way across the ship in the workshop, a drill in hand and... well, she was about to do something she would probably regret.

After that, she tried not sleeping, instead living off of the low-grade buzz of a constant candy corn intake. No thought could be trusted. She set up a little nest by the wall because, that way, at least she knew where the ideas were coming from. That they weren't inside her head. She didn't go out to look at galaxies anymore, didn't check the cargo, and stayed far, far away from the stasis pods and workshop. It was just her, her candy corn, and the glow of her data pad. And the wall.

The ship passed through a nebula River Run had been excited to witness first hand before but only saw through the external cameras now. She wanted to just scoop up all that cosmic dust and put it into the ventilation system. This marked the last leg of her shift.

It took her several days agonizing over candy corn and the urge to _do things_  to realize the wall was quiet. She leaned against it, listening. It was a wall, just a thin membrane separating her from the rushing void of space and silent. She bit her lip and thought about biting right through.

Eventually, she left the wall, and her thoughts became their normal songs again.

When the rest of the crew woke up to swap shifts, River Run was there to greet them with a smile and nothing to report.

Before she went into stasis, she sat in the dark and had a dinner of candy corn.

* * *

Wander offered some candy corn he'd pulled from his hat to Hater as he finished up his story. Hater pushed it away, because if Wander was right about only one thing in his life, it was that candy corn was gross.

"So what was the thing in the wall? Why didn't she tell the others about it?"

Wander shrugged. "Guess she didn't _think_ to," he said with a giggle. "And I dunno. Maybe it was nothing at all."

Hater huffed. "That's stupid. You can't just not explain things."

"Space is big 'n' strange. Sometimes any explanation's beyond our ken. If you can have horrifyin' rogue planets, I can have whisperin' walls."

The fire popped and crackled, filling the silence that fell between them. The wind sounded a lot like whispering as it threaded through the trees, and Hater realized he was trying to make out words where there were none. He suppressed a shudder because Wander was still on his lap and would feel it and think his stupid story had actually scared Hater. Which none of them had, yet, he reminded himself pointedly. Wander was awful at telling scary stories.

"I'll explain _everything_ in my next story."

"Oh, we're still doin' this?"

"Uh, duh. I've only told one story. You got to do two."

"Oh, of course. That's not at all fair," Wander said as he settled down in Hater's lap like Captain Tim. Hater reflexively scratched Wander's head as he thought up a title. He cleared his throat.

"Sometimes knowing everything is worse than knowing nothing," he began, mimicking Wander's lead in. "Sometimes it's better to not know, because the truth is so horrible. Like that saying, 'ignorance is bliss'. I present to you --" Wander stretched his arm out lazily to throw some powder on the fire for Hater. "The Tale of the Curious Cat."


	5. "The Tale of the Curious Cat"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Witches. And could probably fall under Phobia Friday, but w/e.

Once there was this witch who was terrible at her job. She thought she could tell Lord Hater he'd live the rest of his life miserable and alone, just because some stupid stars said so. But stars aren't some all-knowing, cosmic arbiters of dating. They're giant balls of plasma and sometimes planets, and the only reason they are the way they are is because of fundamental forces like gravity. Planets spin around stars, stars spin around black holes, and galaxies spin around the origin of the universe. Or something. It's all just probability and cosmic chance things ended up the way they way they did in the sky. And black holes and galaxies and whatever don't care about dating.

Anyway! She was a bad witch, but she was the only witch in this corner of the galaxy, because witchcraft didn't transition well into the space age. So if you were looking for some magical woo-y nonsense like Peeeee-- Tim the cat was, you had to go to her. He was looking for this magical woo-y nonsense because he was tired of being so..... loveable.

He wasn't there to find something to make him less loveable, because magic potions are a completely unregulated industry so there was no telling what he'd be drinking and this isn't a 'be careful what you wish for' story. He just wanted to know why. Why had the cosmic machinations decided he was to be so loveable? Science had just sort of shrugged and said "probability?" like it wasn't really sure either, so he was willing to give magic a try.

Magic sort of shrugged, too, but, unlike science, it was much easier to persuade to look a little harder with the help of a blaster.

The witch sat Tim down at her table and put away all her fortune telling nonsense. The crystal ball, the cards, the stones. She replaced them with a mirror with gold backing. Mirrors are like eyes when you look into them. I'm not saying Tim was an eye. He was a cat. But mirrors are like eyes because they've got that refractive-y bit behind some clear junk. And eyes are the windows to the soul. So you can see into your.... windows through mirrors. Which are also eyes. But nobody's _just_ an eye, just so we're clear.

"Look deep into your reflection," the witch instructed.

Tim did.

"Now think back. To when you were born. To when your parents were born, as far back as you can imagine. And ask yourself why. Somewhere along the way, the universe decided to make you the way you are for a reason."

Tim was a completionist, and a perfectionist, and thought he had a lot to prove for some reason, so he looked into that mirror like his glare by itself could get the mirror to spill the beans. He glared and he glared, and he thought back to his parents, grandparents, ancestors, ancestors of ancestors, past when his people were just climbing out of the primordial ooze, past when his solar system was just an accretion disk around a star. Past when his _galaxy_ was just accretion.

He was approaching the beginning of the universe, when things just manifested from nothingness and exploded. And if a primordial soup of bubbling lava and twisted, proto-animals with too many limbs and teeth is freaky, imagine the universe's primordial soup. It'd be a nightmare. He thought right on past that, though, because no story actually starts at the beginning, and the answers the universe was providing weren't up to his standards. Which were genetics, mostly, with some poor dietary choices thrown in.

"Woah, maybe you wanna slow down? It's getting a little weird in there." the witch said as she looked into the mirror.

Without taking his eye...s off the mirror, Tim pointed his blaster at her. "No."

"Fine," she said, leaning back, because stopping Tim wasn't worth getting shot over.

"Fine."

Tim blew past the Big Bang and floated around in nothingness for a while. Like, can you imagine nothingness? It's crazy. Tim could, and he wasn't going to be driven mad by the void today.

Pre-universe seemed like a pretty good place to stop. Except psych! Not really! You go that far back, and you'll want to see what's just a little further.

So Tim went further. It couldn't have just been a universe of nothingness for most of eternity. I mean, I guess it could have, but not in this story.

Suddenly, there was something.

There was this whole proto-universe. Universe 1.0. Instead of the chaotic mess of the primordial universe, everything was orderly. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

It was like the universe was suspended in gel. All the celestial bodies were in balance. But everything was dead and dark.

Except for one person. Tim.

Not our Tim, but _their_ Tim. Their Tim was just a little less loveable. He was of... of average lovableness for his species.

This of-average-lovableness Tim sat at the heart of it all, the only light in the center of this still, silent universe. He'd brought order to chaos, and, eventually, order to nothingness. Because he was a control freak.

Tim sat back from the mirror.

"Well?" the witch asked. "Did you find an answer to your question?"

"I did." Tim got up and left.

He sat in an orbble above the planet. Even in space, stars twinkled and the planet turned. His friends and family and subordinates and very cool leader were out there.

He could stop it all. If he was a little less loveable.

* * *

Wander's head was butted up against Hater's chin, and he tilted it back to look cross-eyed up at Hater. "That's real sweet."

"No, it's not! What is with you? You thought that other story about demon planets was cute, too. Are you broken?"

Wander twisted to curl a little into Hater's robes. "Nah, I just think it's cute how highly ya think of Mr. Peepers's ability."

"Pft, what? Peepers wasn't even in that story. And it wasn't supposed to be cute. It was supposed to be scary."

"Then... you're afraid of him? Thinkin' if he was just a little more confident, he'd rule the universe without ya?"

"Stop thinking so deeply about it. It was just a story. About a guy. Who has to live with the idea that he can kill literally everyone."

"I guess it is more of an existential terror sorta situation," Wander said agreeably. "But I just wanna tell ya, Mr. Peepers respects you a bunch. You're like his idol, Hatey. He'd never -- Hey!"

Hater yanked Wander's hat down over him and shoved him off. This time Wander went easily. He fell into a crumple of leaves.

"Can we talk about anything else?" Hater said.


	6. "The Tale of the Rider"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Trending 27th, which was three favorite episodes from season one. I actually didn't change this one as much as I expected from the rough, since it's just like... a summary of canonical events anyhow.

Wander settled down across from Hater again. “Let’s see. I got a story about the time I almost sorta saved a princess, though she wound up saving herself ‘n’ livin’ as happily ever after as lots of hard work 'n’ communication would allow. That was fun, and Brad Starlight was there. I know how good of friends y'all are. Or this one time I lost my gropdarn mind over a box. Not even a fancy box or nuthin’. Just a plain ol’ white box which for a bit of time, between you 'n' me, I almost thought had nuthin' in it. Or, since ya shared somethin’ personal with me –-”

“No, I didn’t!” Hater interrupted. “That was a completely made up character, in a completely made up situation that had no bearing on reality.”

Wander kissed his teeth at Hater’s very specific denial but didn’t press the topic. “Anyway. There was this time I was real worried 'bout Sylvia leavin’ me.”

Hater snorted at Wander’s claim. “Like that would ever happen.”

“No, really! It was terrible. I even sorta... left her in anticipation of her leavin' me. So which one do ya wanna hear?”

Hater rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see. I hate Brad, so hearing about how he had to put up with you would be hilarious. But so would hearing about you going crazy over something stupid like a box, because it’s obvious you have some mental issues… Though the last one sounds like it’d reveal some deep, dark secret about you that I can hold over your head later. Tell me that one.”

“Okay!” Wander chirped. “Now it ain’t a traditional horror story like what we’ve been swappin’ thusfar (though I could say th' same 'bout your last story), but I present t’ ya 'The Tale of the Rider’.”

* * *

One fine day, Sylvia and I were helping some tiny glass folks named Mr. And Mrs. Brittle move house when suddenly a spaceship came crashing down in a fiery explosion. We ran to investigate, and it turned out to be an old partner of Sylvia’s named Ryder (with a y). He was going on a ‘rip-roaring, action-packed, trans-galactic adventure’ and wanted Sylvia to come along. And wherever Sylvia goes, I go. Or so I thought.

It started off small. He got in the saddle instead of me, and sat there like he belonged, and Sylvia didn’t say anything so I guess he did.

Now, Sylvia’s a big lady, but she’s not really designed for more than one rider, so that left me hoofing it on my own. That weren’t the problem because she’d made me walk before if I was being inconsiderate, but this wasn’t her making me walk. It was that there wasn’t _room_ for me.

Then there were other things. Sylvia looooves adventure and explosions and fighting. Me? I could do without the explosions and fighting, though those things tend to around me anyway. But Ryder was all about that sort of stuff. Firefights and high-speed space chases and break-ins. You name it, we did it, and I felt pretty bad about it.

And all through that, it was becoming less Wander and Sylvia and more Ryder and Sylvia... and oh I guess Wander was there, too.

This was one of those adventures where I couldn’t seem to do nothing right. People say they’re friends but they actually aren’t, words mean things other than the things they usually mean. I try to help, and it just gets us almost blown up. I’m expected to shoot people, and people are disappointed when I won’t.

But Sylvia was great. She always is. Fighting off bikers, hot wiring spaceships. This was the sort of thing she lived for before we met, back when she was a bounty hunter. And she’s not bad at it. On the contrary, Sylvia’s great at being a criminal –- I don’t mean that in a bad way, just she does have particular talents well-suited to the criminal life. I mean, I’m technically a criminal too, but that’s just a misunderstanding between you and me. Sylvia, though, she’s a rebel. I thought she liked being a rebel with a cause, but it’s not as exciting as being completely off the leash. I know that. I understand. Sometimes it's a little boring, bein' moral.

I can’t be a rebel without a cause, Hatey, but Ryder definitely could. So the chasm grew bigger and wider and scarier.

It was scary, because this kind of thing happened before. I don’t –- I don’t actually have a home. Not like you with the Skullship or Sylvia with her family. Or both of you and this galaxy y'all call your own. I’ve traveled with people before, but they leave or, well, time passes and… even Sylvia can’t stay with me forever, but I was real afraid that was the end of her staying with me already, and I wasn’t ready for it.

Then she did it. Her and Ryder went off into, uh… Your hidden storage facility. I know, I know, and I’m real sorry about that, but those weren’t your treasures and this story ain’t about that. It’s about Sylvia. And me. And Ryder, sort of.

So she and Ryder went barreling into your facility, and I got a bit of a late start on account of the crash that got us there. By the time I was at the door, it slammed down and locked. Sylvia hadn't even waited for me. I don't know if she even realized I wasn't there.

She left me.

It was real quiet, then.

* * *

Wander lapsed into a silence that didn’t sit well with Hater. Normally he would thank grop that Wander shut up, but this was uncomfortable. Wander wasn’t couching his little story in some metaphor or anything. This was real. Hater even knew the exact incident up to a point, because not only had he lost his largest treasure hoard, he’d had to scramble to find a gift for Gary or whatever his name was’s sudden and unexpected birthday party so he didn’t look like a total jerk. He’d been angry, but had gotten over it.

Apparently, Wander hadn’t. His eyes had that glassy sort of teary look to them, and Hater was so not equipped to deal with a crying nemesis. That would be the awful cherry on the terrible ice cream sundae that was his attempt at a date.

“She came back though, obviously,” he prompted, breaking Wander out of his stupor.

He took a worryingly long time to respond, then shook his head. “… No, actually.”

* * *

At first, I wanted to knock and get her attention, but couldn’t bring myself to. I saw the writing on the wall. There was always a point, you know, when this happened. There’s always someone better. Someone who had ties to keep them close. Someone more suited to her than some worthless wandering wanderer…

I orbbled out of there and down to a drab, dead little asteroid to try to figure out what next. The only reason I was _Wander_ was because of Sylvia, after all. I couldn’t find another Sylvia. I didn’t _want_ to find another Sylvia.

It kind of puts things in perspective, being without your better half.

And that was when I almost got eaten by a space worm.

At least, that’s what he said he was going to do if he hadn’t heard me talking to myself. Fredrick was his name. We got to talking and turns out I helped his cousin. So Fredrick decided to help me back. I guess… if I hadn’t helped his cousin, he would have just gone with his original plan.

Which would have been real unfortunate for everyone involved, now that I think about it. Except Fredrick, because he'd get a free meal. And you.

Fredrick suggested I talk to Sylvia instead of just assuming that’s how it has to be. And you know what? It worked! Who’da thunk it’d be that easy? I always worry I'm a little offputting and needy, but Sylvia seemed genuinely glad to see me.

We made up, blew up your storage facility (sorry about that), and her leaving me absolutely never ever became a problem ever again.

* * *

“So, you’re still super afraid she’s going to leave you,” Hater said. That would be very useful to know for the future.

Wander blew a raspberry. “No, didn’t you hear the ending?”

Hater rolled his eye as he stood up. “Yeah, I can lie about things too. That story was a complete downer, so I’m going to go… somewhere else. Away from you.”

Wander crawled a little closer to the low-burning fire and, subsequently, Hater. “But you’ve only told two stories and I’ve told three. Don’t you want to stay a bit longer? Get one more story out? We can make s’mores.”

Hater paused just on the boundary between firelight and shadows. It had been long enough that calling Peepers wouldn’t be weird. Instead, he squinted at Wander. “Are you…. afraid I’m leaving you? Which I am.”

Wander blew an even longer raspberry. It went on and on, and then he said, “No. Why –- why would you think that? Sylvia’s probably going to be here soon, anyway.”

“Okay,” Hater said, turning away. “If it's not a problem, I’m leaving now.” He got a few steps into the darkness before he felt something tug on his robe. Wander had latched onto the hem. Hater took another step, dragging Wander along, then stopped.

They stared at each other.

“Maybe I told a little fib,” Wander admitted, finally. “Please don’t leave me alone? Just until Syl comes back. We don’t even need t’ tell stories or nuthin’.”

Hater thought on this and enjoyed every fearful inhalation of Wander's when he looked toward the forest, as though he was still going to leave. But he couldn't help but think of things out there whispering to him, or spindly limbs like thin, tangled branches touching him.

Hater let Wander drag him back to the fire, but made sure he knew it wasn't for any reason like the dark seemed a little scary. “S’mores would have been nice like two stories ago,” he muttered. “But whatever.”


	7. The Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Phobia Friday #4: Hater. This story definitely has a lot more, uh, variety in tone than I was intending from the start, but it's done. And if I waited any longer on editing, it'd be _next_ October when I got around to posting it.

Sylvia said absolutely nothing about the two of them camped out together when she arrived from the town. Wander was fighting off sticky, melted marshmallow that had gotten into his fur, and Hater had a pile of cinders that used to be more marshmallows around him. She just sighed.

"Ready to go, buddy?"

"Yes'm!" Wander said, hopping up into her saddle. He looped the reins over his elbows so as not to touch them with his fingers. "You gonna be okay, Hatey?"

"Pft, yeah. Especially now that you're gone."

"... If you say so."

"I do."

"Okay... Bye, Hatey! Thanks for staying with me. You're a pal!" Wander said as Sylvia turned to the forest. Soon they were gone, and Hater thought he saw their silhouettes orbble up and out into space.

He called Peepers for a pickup out of this creepy forest as soon as possible, though Hater only mentioned that he needed a pickup.

* * *

"How was your... date, sir?" Peepers asked as Hater stormed past him into the ship.

"It was fine. We had lots of fun," Hater said moodily.

"Uh-huh."

"We told stories and ate s'mores and had a really nice time," Hater insisted.

Peepers jogged a bit to catch up to Hater. "Looks like you had a bit more than a nice time. Lint roller, sir?"

Hater looked down at his robe. "Oh for grop's sake --" he snatched the lint roller and got to work trying to unembed Wander's bright orange fur. "It wasn't like that, Peepers."

"Of course, sir," Peepers said flatly, equally resigned to whatever this whole Hater/Wander thing was as Sylvia.

* * *

Hater lay in his bed later that night, Captain Tim growling and murmuring in his sleep beside him. He could hear Watchdogs moving all around floors above and floors below him, probably some even in the vents, like those weird guys from maintenance. He didn't really know what Watchdogs did when they weren't marching on planets or in the cafeteria. They had to have hobbies, right? Play video games and watch _The Eye on the Skullship_.

Maybe Hater should watch it, too. Get to know more about his minions. He felt like that guy from Wander's story. Sort of on the outside of things. For all he knew, Watchdogs were just eyes and nerve endings in flesh suits, and half of that show was them floating around or hanging from the ceiling, whispering horrible things.

He squinted at his own ceiling trying to see if anything looked back at him. Hater squeezed his eyes shut before he could begin to make out shapes, imagined or real. No, that was stupid. His Watchdogs weren't any weirder than a bunch of tiny, eye-headed people. Or robots. Or whatever they were. They were completely loyal to him.

Hater told himself this until he felt calm enough to open his eyes again. Wander's big, wide eyes stared down at him, picking up what little light there was in his room like a cat's.

Hater yelped and pulled himself into his night robe. Wander followed because he had no concept of personal space.

"Hater! I'm glad you're still awake," he said once Hater had the presence of mind to pry him up. He dropped Wander to the side and sat up, trying to muddle through what was going on. Wander grabbed Captain Tim and held him in his arms as he waited.

"What are you doing here?" Hater said, finally.

"I couldn't sleep."

"So you broke into my spaceship?"

"I didn't wanna bother Syl. She tuckered herself out fixin' up that town. And it'd be hard t' explain to her why I couldn't sleep."

Hater waited.

"I was thinkin' about your stories. Do you know where I live, Hater?"

"Nowhere? Aren't you homeless?"

"In space. All your stories were about cosmic horrors. Dead universes 'n' demon planets. I understand tailorin' your stories t' your audience, but I've seen enough out there that I can believe those exist. If not now... eventually. Ultimately."

Hater let himself feel smug about that and didn't let on that Wander's stories had scared him too. No point ruining the moment. "And what does this have to do with me?"

Wander tugged the edge of his hat nervously, and Captain Tim used the distraction to escape his hug. "I was wonderin' if I could stay with ya? Sylvia's real strong, but she's good against more hands-on threats. An' she's taken on a planet before 'n' won, so this ain't to disparage her, but you can't fight th' death of the universe or a physics-bending torture world. I'd -- well, I'd just feel safer with ya if it's me versus some cosmic horror. Just for tonight. Until the idea of everyone dyin' around me stops bein' so scary."

"What do Watchdogs do in their free time?" Hater asked instead. As he didn't immediately dismiss Wander or shove him away, Wander took that as an invitation to wriggle under his blanket and capture Captain Tim again for cuddles.

"They got hobbies 'n' stuff. Moose likes workin' out. Andy does video editing, and Bean helps him with that. Tim stands in lockers and closets for days on end watching people. Just... watching. I don't know what for. Barry's writing a memoir. Peepers reads a lot of self-help books. An' so on."

"That sounds boring and unfulfilling," Hater decided. Which was fine by him. He liked his minions boring and fulfilled only by the conquest of planets. With that question answered, Hater got comfy. Wander curled up close to him, smushing Captain Tim between the two of them. The arachnomorph kicked and twisted until he resigned himself to his new position with a drool-spattering huff.

Hater rolled back onto his side and draped an arm over the two of them. It was already easier to sleep knowing someone else was there, and that they thought he was big enough and bad enough to take on the universe. Nothing was as scary as Hater was cool. Not Peepers, not space demons. Nothing.

Hater's eyes shot open.

"What was that about Tim?"

Wander snorted and muttered in his sleep. Even when Hater shook him for answers, all he managed to do was disturb Captain Tim who swiped at him with his forelegs until Hater stopped being annoying.

Hater lay back in the bed and stared at some middle distance above his head. His gaze shifted to his closet. No. Nooooo. No way he was in there.

Something fell over in his closet. Hater yanked his blanket over his head.


End file.
